Page 15 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

Amelia couldn’t bring herself to spend even one more minute looking at her list of tasks needing her attention.

But neither could she sit in the silence of the house, listening to the storm that had arrived without warning.

Mr. Summerfield had taken his evening meal in his room, and she was alone in the drawing room.

To her frustration, his absence disappointed her.

She remained entirely certain he was hiding something. And nearly everything about him was unnervingly mysterious. Yet she’d missed him as she’d eaten alone in the dining room. Missed a gentleman she’d spoken with only three times.

The isolation was beginning to addle her, she sometimes feared.

Mr. Summerfield was likely still mildly upended and mildly uncomfortable, not to mention still exhausted after his battle with the sea the night before.

And it was not the done thing for a single gentleman and a single lady to spend time together alone, in England at least. She wasn’t sure of the expectations in America.

Still, the oddness of their situation required some adaptation.

He could certainly have passed the evening in the drawing room with her.

The door would have remained open, allowing for the possibility of Marsh, Mrs. Jagger, or Jane to step inside.

Mick didn’t always spend time up at the house, but he was known to wander in and out.

Still, the tattooed American needn’t have spent the entire night alone in his room while she was alone in the drawing room.

She leaned on her walking stick as she plunked a few notes on the pianoforte.

She was not an accomplished musician, but she could play a few songs.

It was how she had entertained herself through much of the last month.

When the book room grew too monotonous or the sea grew too loud, she sat at the instrument and did what she could to distract herself, filling those evenings with silent declarations of “Tonight, I am grateful that Susanna’s music tutor spoke loudly enough for me to overhear and learn a few things. ”

She’d found, within a few days of her arrival at Guilford, printed music in a cabinet nearby and had been slowly teaching herself to play a few things in addition to the pieces she had already memorized.

She had started and restarted the same sonata four times when Mr. Summerfield’s odd accent interrupted. “I didn’t realize you played.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I do not play well.”

“Did you put it on your CV and now you’re stuck with that as part of your character?”

Amelia didn’t have the first idea what he meant by that.

He wandered toward her, seemingly pleased to be there, so she didn’t press the matter.

“I have looked around,” he said, “and I’m beginning to understand just how intense this place is.”

Intense was an odd way of describing Guilford, yet she thought she knew what he meant. There was an unrelenting nature to the island. A person felt closed in and trapped.

Mr. Summerfield motioned for her to sit on the stool, which she did. Then he pulled a chair over and sat beside her. So much about him was unexpected.

With one finger he plunked out a tune. She wasn’t at all familiar with it. It had a delightful bounce to it and an interesting combination of intervals. Her accidental education in music was too limited to identify a musical style or era from which it might have emerged.

“You have had some musical instruction?” she asked.

“Just enough to tell people it’s a skill of mine and not get accused of lying.” He continued on with his tune, one that was proving somewhat repetitious.

“Don’t tell my cousin that you have any ability at the pianoforte; she’ll make you play every time she and her friends wish to dance.”

“I can’t imagine people dancing to ‘Heart and Soul.’”

“‘Heart and Soul’? Is that what this tune is called?”

He seemed to expect her to have known that.

“I fear my exposure to music and culture and such is rather limited,” she said. “The life of a poor relation is not often rich in any sense of the word.”

“A poor relation.” He nodded. “I’m familiar with that archetype.”

“Archetype?”

“That word has to be old enough.”

Mr. Summerfield had the uncanny ability to confuse her.

“A type of person,” he said.

Ah. “Poor relations are often lumped together, always assumed to be mousy or weak or unwilling to stand up for ourselves. We are very seldom given credit for the monumental effort required to resist punching people in the nose when they say things like that.”

“For the sake of my nose, I will point out that I was only trying to say that I know what the term ‘poor relation’ refers to, though we don’t really use the term in America.

I hadn’t meant to imply that those who find themselves in your life situation have no claim on individuality.

” He watched her out of the corner of his eyes.

While there was the tiniest hint of teasing in his expression, she could see that he also legitimately was not certain if she was going to belt him.

Most people would absolutely never believe she had it in her. She wasn’t sure she did.

“I have been a poor relation nearly all my life,” she said.

“If I am successful during my remaining time at Guilford, I do not have to return to that role. Despite not preferring a life of dependent poverty, I’m grateful to have been taken in by my uncle and aunt.

I would have been in difficult straits otherwise. ”

He nodded as he plunked out another tune. “Being a carpenter in the mornings and a very lonely gentleman of leisure in the afternoons and evenings wasn’t quite how I envisioned spending my immediate future.”

She rose awkwardly from her stool and paced, her cane punctuating her movements.

“I worry that I offended you by suggesting you take on that role. I don’t know how things are done in America or what it is that you are accustomed to and are willing to do, but Guilford needs a great many repairs.

And if they are not made to the exacting standards of those who will ultimately decide if the next few months are a failure, then everything will come to a very abrupt end. ”

She likely wasn’t explaining things in enough detail for him to make sense of it all, but opening up entirely to a stranger felt far too vulnerable.

“This, then, is a crucial summer season,” he said.

“I cannot even begin to express how crucial. With you now here, even for a short time, there is a chance of salvaging the situation. Yet I am certain you can ascertain that I am not entirely comfortable with you here. I don’t consider myself an entirely untrusting person, but I am cautious with people I don’t know, especially before I know if they are trustworthy. ”

“I’m not a saint, I’ll confess that.”

She nodded. “I saw the tattoo.”

“Always in character.” The underlying laughter in his voice brought her eyes to him.

For a moment, she braced herself to see mocking derision or a man who would prove to be more of a rake than a potential help.

She was in a vulnerable situation. But what she saw was legitimate, friendly amusement.

She hadn’t offended him, nor had she upset him.

It was a surprisingly good beginning, even if she didn’t know what he meant by, “Always in character.”

“Do you know how to play anything else?” she asked him.

“Beyond a carpenter or a gentleman of leisure?”

She motioned to the pianoforte. “I mean, do you play any other tunes?”

“Ah.” His eyes were particularly beguiling when he grinned. “If I have sheet music, I can manage uncomplicated tunes.”

Sheet music must have been the Americanism for printed music. She took up those few that she had found and brought them over to the instrument, retaking her seat there. “A few of these have proven simple enough for me to begin learning them. A couple are very complicated.”

He looked through them. His light-brown brow tugged low, and his mouth tipped in a bit of a frown. Heavens, he was handsome. She could hardly countenance how very perfect his teeth were. Most everyone’s teeth had some imperfection to them. But not his.

“This notation style is very unfamiliar,” he said. “It’s, no doubt, very accurate.”

“Is music written differently in America?” she asked.

“Eventually,” he muttered.

“Eventually?” she repeated, confused.

“This is different from what I’m used to,” he said.

“It may take a few of my ‘gentleman of leisure’ evenings to learn how to read it well enough to play it.” He set the music atop the pianoforte.

“Once I know a tad more about the hours I’m expected to work and when people will actually be here, I will sort out whether that seems a good way to spend an evening. ”

“Has this been a terribly unpleasant way to spend this evening?” She had thought their conversation had been congenial; talking with him had helped ease some of her anxieties. And listening to his admittedly inexpert tune had proven enjoyable.

Her question proved a bad idea, as it turned his smile on her, which only added to its potency. “Not terribly unpleasant at all.”

“For me either. And I’ve heard a tune I didn’t know before.”

“We have the entirety of the summer season for me to teach it to you.”

Her breath caught. “You would consider staying the entire time? Working here and helping for the next few months?”

He shrugged. “It is my best option at the moment.”

That was a relief in so many ways. “When my uncle and the solicitor return, they’ll need to see that improvements have been made and that things are functioning as they ought. Your efforts in that area would help ever so much.”

“I am here to take on whatever role makes the most sense.”

“You can play some music, and you can obviously swim. You are a carpenter and a gentleman of leisure. Have you any other skills?”

“Is this an audition or a friendly conversation?”

“It must be a friendly conversation, as I haven’t the least idea what an ‘audition’ is,” she said.

“Everyone here is far too method,” he said with a laugh.

While she wasn’t certain what he’d meant by that, his laugh brought hers bubbling to the surface.

He stood up from his chair and stepped slightly away from the pianoforte.

“I think it would behoove me to let you know that I am an exceptional dancer.”

“Are you? Do people dance in America?”

“Do we dance in America?” His scoffing expression was so overly done, it only broadened her smile.

“You tell me, Miss Amelia Archibald.” And he proceeded to twist and flail about in the oddest assortment of movements that didn’t look at all like dancing.

Had she seen him doing this from a distance, she would have assumed he had a bee in his trousers.

He stopped abruptly and burst out in the most joyous sounding laughter. “I can tell by your expression that you are far from impressed.”

Amelia assumed a theatrically earnest look. “I am still waiting for the part where you demonstrate your dancing skills.”

That made him laugh harder. She’d never met anyone quite like him. They hardly knew each other, yet he already felt more like a friend than people she’d known her entire life. Fate seldom showed her kindness, but it seemed poised to do so at last.

The room suddenly shook with thunder. Amelia closed her eyes and breathed through the rumble.

“Do you not like thunderstorms?” Mr. Summerfield asked.

“I don’t like the ocean ,” she said, “and storms make it very angry.”

“You don’t like the ocean, and yet you’ve accepted a position on an island?”

“It was not my idea.”

“That seems to be the most common way of finding oneself at Guilford.”

Though the wind continued to howl outside, she was able to open her eyes again and breathe. The waves would be loud that night, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would sleep. But for the moment, she was somewhat calm.

“Are there specific things you need me to work on during my carpentry hours?” he asked.

“I have a list.”

With another one of those smiles that sent her heart fluttering, he said, “I don’t even have to guess at my assignment? How refreshing.”

“There may be some things I have not sorted or discovered yet.”

“And when does everyone else arrive?”

“I’m not entirely certain.” She shifted on the stool. Thoughts of her uncle and the solicitor returning made her too anxious to sit still. “It could be within the week. It could be a fortnight.”

“There’s not a set date?” That clearly surprised him.

She would eventually have to fill him in on more of the details of the situation. But for the moment, she was so grateful that he was willing to help that she didn’t want to risk undermining that.

“No one will come to Guilford until the sea road is above water again,” she said. “And it takes time for it to dry out sufficiently for travel.”

“After which, people can come and go again.”

Come and go. And go. If only she were permitted to do so.